


like birds on a wire

by arbybra



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Roommates, Sharing a Bed, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:34:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24757879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arbybra/pseuds/arbybra
Summary: Clarke and Bellamy sleep in the same bed. They've also never actually met.Or the one where Clarke needs a cheap place to live and Bellamy, who works nights, decides to rent his apartment out for extra cash.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 167
Kudos: 310





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> This work was inspired by a wonderful little book called The Flatshare. It's probably better than anything I'll ever write and I really recommend it.
> 
> Anyway, whilst the premise is very similar, this story is going to differ a lot as we get into it. I really hope you guys enjoy this -- please leave a comment to let me know what you think so far. 
> 
> Much love, arby x

If Clarke’s learnt anything in the past few weeks of apartment hunting, it’s that desperation can make you much more open-minded.

For example, even though the shoebox-sized condo she’s currently viewing is barely livable (and barely affordable), she can still picture the potential in it. The fluorescent mould in the bathroom can be scrubbed away, at least for a little while. The filthy couch could be replaced fairly cheaply. And she feels like the ivy vines growing through a broken pane in the bedroom window could be considered hipster-chic, giving the place an outdoorsy kind of vibe.

Raven and Wells, on the other hand, are not desperate, and they are most definitely not trying to be positive. Clarke’s certain that they look genuinely horrified with their surroundings.

“You can’t fucking live here,” Raven says, matter-of-fact. She’s standing with her arms crossed defensively, her nostrils literally flaring as she frowns at a patch of peeling paint on the wall closest to her.

Wells sighs deeply from where he’s examining the kitchen cabinets. “She’s right, Clarke. Isn’t there anything else within your budget? This place is even worse than the one we saw last night.”

Clarke rolls her eyes at their dramatics, turning to see if the realtor is within earshot. Thankfully he’s ducked out onto the fire escape to smoke a cigarette.

“I’m not traipsing around another one of these hellholes, that’s for sure,” Raven snipes, checking her watch distractedly. She’d kindly taken the morning off work to accompany Clarke on this particular viewing, so it’s understandable that she’s probably thinking it’s been a huge waste of time. “There’s got to be another option.”

“You’re always welcome on my couch,” Wells adds, albeit unhelpfully. It’s a kind offer, but they all know that it’s not a long-term solution to Clarke’s living situation. She needs to find a place of her own. If she’s just crashing at one of her friend’s apartments then it’ll be too easy for her to end up back at Lexa’s place -- and that’s unquestionably not an option here. “Or I could always loan you some money?”

“I’m not taking your money,” Clarke huffs. “Look, Lexa gets back from Ghana next Monday, so I need to move out of her house by the end of the week. It’s either this place or the shared apartment.”

“You mean the _shared bed,_ ” Raven says, grimacing.

Wells comes to join them now, looking worried. “Show me the listing again?”

Clarke sighs, digging her phone out of her mini backpack. She flips through her open tabs until she finds it, leaning closer to Wells so that he can read the screen.

_Double bedroom in spacious one-bed Arcadia Hill apartment. $400 rent a month, including bills. Available immediately, for six months minimum._

_Apartment (and room/bed) is to share with a thirty-year-old security guard who works nights and is away weekends. Only ever in the apartment 9am to 6pm, Monday to Friday. All yours for the rest of the time! Perfect for someone with a 9 to 5 job._

_Serious enquiries only._

_To view, contact B. Blake - details below._

“So it’s not just sharing an apartment, it’s sharing an actual bed -- with a stranger. That does seem a bit weird, Clarke,” Wells says warily. “Are you sure you don’t just want a loan?”

“And what if this B. Blake is a man?” Raven adds.

Clarke’s thankfully prepared for this one. “We wouldn’t ever actually be in the apartment at the same time, so that’s not really an issue.”

“But they could be a sweaty, hairy pervert for all you know. It just seems too shady. Is Wells’ couch really that uncomfortable?”

“I am not crashing on Wells’ couch for the rest of my life,” Clarke groans. She really doesn’t want to be _that_ friend -- the one that’s helplessly dependent on everyone else to get her life back on track. And it’s not enough that she’s already sworn that she won’t go crawling back to Lexa this time. Clarke is actively determined to find somewhere permanent to call her own to ensure that it isn’t even an option -- even if it means sharing a bed with a sweaty, hairy pervert. With renewed conviction she announces, “You know what? I’m just going to call them and ask if I can at least see the place.”

Before either of her friends can protest, Clarke’s dialed the contact number at the bottom of the listing. Raven makes a strangling motion in her direction, but Clarke ignores her as the phone continues to ring. On the fourth ring, B. Blake finally answers.

“Hello?” Asks a distinctly male voice, deep and rough. It sounds like she might’ve woken him up. “Who is this?”

“Hi, um, sorry to bother you,” Clarke stammers, immediately wondering if this is a huge mistake, “I was just calling about the apartment on Craigslist. Is it still available?”

There’s some muffled noise on his end, like he’s moving around. She’s pretty certain now that she woke him up and she can’t help but feel a little guilty -- it did say on the listing that he worked nights, after all. Maybe it would’ve been better if she’d just text him. After a beat he says, “It’s still available. Did you want to arrange a viewing?”

Clarke grins. “Yes, please, that would be great.”

“Great. Does tomorrow evening work for you, about half five?”

“Half five tomorrow is perfect, thank you,” Clarke replies quickly.

“Cool, I’ll text you the address,” B. Blake tells her, then adds, “Sorry, what did you say your name was?”

“My name’s Clarke,”

There’s more muffled noise before he talks again. “Clarke. Right, well, I’ll text you shortly. See you tomorrow.”

She thanks him one last time and hangs up, feeling resolutely optimistic. The listing hadn't featured any photos of the apartment, but Clarke figures it really can't be any worse than the shit hole she's currently standing in. She looks up from her phone to find Raven raising an eyebrow at her expectantly.

“So, did they sound like a serial killer?”

Clarke laughs humorlessly. “No, _he_ did not. I'm going to view the place tomorrow evening.”

Wells looks like he wants to object, but they're interrupted by the sound of the realtor coming back in from the fire escape. He appraises them, looking bored as he asks, “So what do you think? You gonna take it?”

“I'm going to pass,” Clarke tells him, glancing around the mildew-ridden condo one last time. She's sure she sees Raven mouth _thank fucking God_ , so that's something at least. Maybe her friends are not completely against the prospect of a bed-sharing roommate in the grand scheme of things -- Clarke certainly isn't, anyway. Desperation really has made her more open-minded.

“Suit yourself,” the realtor shrugs, looking unbothered. He shows them out without ceremony and that's that.

Wells bids the two women farewell, saying he's really got to get to work. Having recently been taken on at a prestigious law firm, he's pretty much always busy these days, so Clarke is just thankful that he'd made time for her this morning. She hugs him goodbye and Raven loops her arm through Clarke's as they watch him make his way back down the street to his fancy new car.

“Grounders?” The brunette suggests, nudging her playfully. “I am literally going into caffeine withdrawal as we speak.”

Clarke grins back at her. “Grounders it is.”

* * *

It's safe to say that Clarke spends the majority of the next day second-guessing her decision to contact B. Blake, as well as just about every other decision she's ever made in her entire adult life.

She figures she must be a little crazy at this point if she's seriously considering sharing a bed with a stranger. Hell, maybe she is a little crazy. Maybe she's the one that her potential roommate should be worried about, instead of the other way around.

It's not just the unconventional particulars of the listing either that's getting to her. It's more that the only other person she's lived with in the past three years has been Lexa and, considering how badly that had turned out, Clarke had really been hoping for a place that was entirely her own now that she's single.

But still, it's not like she'd ever actually see her roommate if she did decide to take the apartment. In the end, it's that fact that stops her from cancelling the viewing completely.

At precisely 5:20pm she pulls up outside a picturesque row of brownstones, pleasantly surprised that it had been so easy to find a parking space. It's a good start. Convenient parking is hard to come by in this part of the city.

The street is aesthetically pleasing -- tree-lined and relatively quiet, with rows of historic houses-turned-apartments and a few independent stores and cafes further down the block. She's always liked the Arcadia Hill neighbourhood, and she's pretty sure that one of her favorite parks is within walking distance, too.

Checking the address on her phone one last time, she takes a deep breath and heads towards one of the buildings with determination.

She presses the buzzer and waits.

Not even two minutes later and the front door opens, revealing a tall, athletic woman who definitely isn't B. Blake unless he's morphed into a terrifying-looking runway model over night. _Oh, God._ Raven was right -- she's definitely going to get murdered.

The woman looks Clarke up and down for a second, almost like she's sizing her up like prey. “Are you here for the viewing?”

“Um…”

“Relax, I'm Echo -- Bellamy's girlfriend. He got called into work early, so I told him I'd show you around. If he's going to be renting his apartment out to some other woman then I figured I'd want to meet her first anyway.”

“I see,” Clarke says, because it does make a little bit of sense. Still, she can't help but feel intimidated.

“Shall we go in?” Echo prompts, and Clarke nods in response.

The apartment is on the second floor and Clarke has her fingers crossed behind her back the entire time Echo fumbles with the lock. This place is really her last option.

“Here we are,” Echo announces as she finally gets the door open, gesturing for Clarke to head inside. “The lock's a bit temperamental, but there's a knack to it or so I'm told.”

They enter into a light, open hallway. There's a window on one wall and bookcases line the space opposite. The wallpaper is a little dated -- the funky floral kind that was probably popular about thirty years ago, but Clarke likes it. It's characterful, in an eclectic kind of way.

Three doors lead off of the hallway and Echo shows her into the first one, which opens into a spacious open-plan kitchen/living room. The floors are hardwood and the decor is a little less vibrant than the hallway, but it's still tasteful. There's a record player in one corner and at least half a dozen more bookcases line the walls. B. Blake -- _Bellamy_ \-- must be a big reader, Clarke figures. There's a leather couch and a good-sized TV, and a dining table in one corner accompanied by four mismatched wooden chairs.

The kitchen area looks pretty decent, too. It's not newly modern by any means, but there's lots of cupboard space. Perfect if you're looking to share with another person.

“So, Clarke -- it's _Clarke_ , right?” Echo asks and Clarke nods absently, a little absorbed in checking out a couple of framed photographs on one of the shelves. There's a handsome, dark-haired guy in all but one of them, with a wide, bright smile and freckles splattered across his face. She thinks it must be Bellamy, and she's relieved that he doesn't look at all like a hairy, sweaty pervert. “What do you do for work?”

“I'm an art teacher at Unity Middle School,” Clarke supplies.

“That sounds fun,” Echo says, but her tone belies that she definitely doesn't think it sounds fun. “And why is it you're looking for a new place to live?”

Clarke swallows thickly. This isn't the first time she's had to explain her new relationship status to people, but it's still hard. She'd met Lexa back in college and they had been on-and-off ever since, loved-up one second and fighting with each other the next. In hindsight, Clarke's kind of surprised that they both stuck it out for so long before finally ending things for good.

“My ex-girlfriend and I split up. I was living with her, so… Yeah.”

Somehow Echo looks a little relieved at that, and it takes a second for it to click in Clarke's head. _Of course. She assumes I must be a lesbian_. Clarke's sadly used to this kind of thing. Regardless, she isn't about to argue about her sexuality with a complete stranger and she doesn't really care that Echo's assumption has categorised her as not-a-threat.

She's not a threat, anyway. Clarke's been the other woman before and would rather pluck out her own eyelashes than go down that route again. Besides, romance is definitely not going to be on her agenda for a long, long time.

“Want to see the rest of the place?” Echo asks, evidently a little more enthusiastic than before.

The bedroom is a good size, with ample wardrobe space and a door that leads out onto a small roof terrace. Clarke can't help but envision what a great spot it would be to set up her easel. The bathroom is a little cramped, on the other hand, but it's spotlessly clean and thankfully there are no signs of mould.

All in all, the apartment is pretty perfect. It's the best she's viewed in the past few weeks and, unconventional sleeping arrangements aside, Clarke would happily move in tomorrow if she could.

“So… Will I not meet Bellamy then?” She figures it's a reasonable question to ask.

“Maybe at some point, but you'd never be here at the same time. The apartment would be yours from six in the evening until eight in the morning during the week and you'd have it completely to yourself on the weekends. Will that work for you?”

“Sure, that sounds great,” Clarke says, then pauses. “So he won't ever come home unexpectedly? Out of his hours?”

“He won't,” Echo replies, sounding like she's planning to make sure of it. “From 6pm until 8am, the apartment is all yours.”

“Great,” Clarke says, trying not to sound too over-excited. She really likes the place and the timeshare sounds fairly reasonable. She can definitely make this work. “Then I'll take it. Um, if you'll have me, that is.”

Echo smiles in the kind of way that looks like she doesn't smile often, her features squishing upwards awkwardly. Somehow she still manages to look gorgeous and intimidating all at once. “Wonderful. I'll give Bellamy a call when he gets off work and let him know.”

Clarke smiles back at her, feeling more optimistic than she has in weeks. Maybe finding her feet again won't be so hard after all.

* * *

Bellamy was surprised by how easily Echo had agreed to cover for him, considering how unhappy she'd been in the first place when he'd mentioned potentially renting out his apartment to a stranger.

He's even more surprised when she calls to let him know that it went really well, and that Clarke wants to move in as soon as possible. 

“She's perfect,” Echo tells him. “Steady job, seems responsible. Promised she'd be clean and tidy, so what else can you ask for really.”

Bellamy considers this for a second. He's dead on his feet tired, trying to focus on keeping his eyes open whilst also trying to hear Echo over the noisy passengers on his bus. “So she didn't seem… Weird? A lot of weirdos have answered the ad so far.”

“She seemed fine, Bellamy. Besides, it's a weird ad. Of course you were going to attract some weirdos.”

“Right. So, what was she like then?”

“She's… Unique, I suppose. Coloured streaks in her hair and she had these thick, clunky hiking boots on, even though it's like eighty degrees out. Seems like she's comfortable with her body.”

He can't help but cringe a little at that. _Comfortable with her body_ is Echo's way of saying chubby. She's a blunt person by nature, but it's something she's been trying to work on.

“But nice? Definitely not weird? What does she do for a living?”

“Slow down, Bellamy, you're almost here, aren't you? We can just talk about this in person when you get in,” Echo says, short.

He agrees and hangs up, saying he'll be with her soon. If he had his way, Bellamy would be fast asleep in bed right now, but he'd promised to have breakfast with Echo at her place to make up for being out of town last weekend.

When he gets to Echo's place, things are fine for all of ten minutes. Then he mentions Pike without thinking, which goes down about as well as a lead balloon.

He can't talk about Pike or anything to do with the hearing without Echo getting a frosty look on her face and lecturing him. It's the same lecture he's heard a hundred times over, but he's not going to budge.

Pike is the only hope his sister has. He's also the only lawyer Bellamy can actually afford, so there's that too. He's already going to be subletting his apartment just to afford the extra $400 a month he needs for the legal fees -- he really doesn't need to hear Echo tell him why it's all going to be for nothing in the end. For Octavia's sake, he has to have hope.

They finally come to a stalemate by the end of breakfast. He's busy pushing his food around, too tired and too annoyed to eat. Echo sighs and grabs his hand across the table.

“I'm sorry. I know you're just trying to help her,” she says, giving his hand a light squeeze. “You're a good person.”

“Thanks,” Bellamy mumbles, relenting.

“I'm going to hit the gym. Why don't you get some sleep? You look like death warmed up.”

He sighs, noting that she's probably right, even if she is being a little bit blunt once again. He _feels_ like death warmed up. Sleep is what he needs desperately.

Echo gets up and presses a quick peck against his lips. She gathers up their plates and takes them to the sink, then heads into her room to grab her gym bag.

When she's gone, Bellamy drags himself to her bed. The mattress is firmer than his own, but he supposes that's something he'll just have to get used to. The only part of the whole subletting thing that Echo had seemed pleased about was his promise to stay at her place on the weekends.

Bellamy's reminded of Clarke then, who's still waiting on confirmation from him. He and Echo hadn't actually gotten around to discussing her any more, but he figures she sounds like as good a candidate as any.

While he can still just about keep his eyes open, he sends her a quick text to get the ball rolling.

_Hi, Clarke. Heard you liked the apartment. Did you want to go ahead with the lease then? Bellamy_

She replies less than a minute later.

_Hey! Yes, that would be wonderful! Thank you so much :) x_

Sleep overcomes him before he can think of a suitable response, but nonetheless Bellamy still feels relieved that he's finally got a tenant lined up. If nothing else is straightforward in his life at the moment, then at least that's sorted.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to post this tomorrow, but I just couldn't wait. From here onwards I'm going to try and update once a week minimum. I'm pretty pleased with how this chapter turned out, so I really hope you guys like it too! 
> 
> I've also got to say that I was absolutely blown away by all the feedback for the first chapter! Thank you so much to everyone for the kudos, comments, bookmarks and subscriptions! I was literally flabbergasted. You've all made me really happy.
> 
> Anyway, without further ado, here's chapter two for you guys. Please let me know what you think :)

Bellamy hadn't really put too much thought into what having a roommate would be like.

He grew up living with two women and he's had a few girlfriends, so he knows that their stuff tends to end up everywhere and that they have a lot of essential products that differ from what a man might have. 

But it only takes less than a week for his apartment to look almost unrecognisable. He's certain that Clarke owns more clothes and trinkets and art supplies than a lowly middle school teacher could ever feasibly afford, and he's also certain that all of her things somehow magically multiply day by day.

His once spacious apartment is now… Full. Cosy, maybe, if he's being kind. Housing both of their things under one roof is definitely a squeeze.

When he goes to look for his spare reading glasses, he finds his bedside drawer filled with knick-knacks and skincare products instead. When he gets home from an exhausting shift at the museum and wants nothing more than to curl up on his couch, he has to deconstruct the pointless layers of frilly cushions first before he can even lay down horizontally. It's mildly infuriating, but he only really has himself to blame.

Not everything is completely awful though. She's already paid him a month's rent in advance, which he'd sent over to Pike straight away, and he's noticed that she likes to cook too.

The first few days, she'd left out a tray of homemade cookies and leftovers of what he could only guess was some kind of stew. Both dishes had smelled amazing, but he'd refrained from taking any. It wasn't clear whether or not she'd actually left it out for him and he didn't want to assume.

But when he comes home from work at the end of the first week, he finds a Tupperware container in the fridge with a post-it note on it.

_Hey! :) I saved you some chicken noodle soup. I promise it's edible. Clarke x_

That's all the confirmation he needs to dig in. It's delicious -- maybe the best chicken noodle soup he's had in his whole life. He finishes it all.

Afterwards, Bellamy decides to scribble down a note in response.

_You should go on Masterchef. That was amazing. Thank you._

If he could get over all the clothes and decorative cushions, then maybe having a roommate wouldn't be so bad.

His land-line phone rings then, the old kind that hangs on the wall with a stretchy cord, and he practically races to answer it.

“O,” Bellamy grins. It's not a question, he knows it's her -- his sister is the only person who ever calls the land-line number. Something to do with call charges and the Polis Creek Correctional Facility being draconian. “How are you?”

“Hey, big brother. I'm doing okay -- really, I am,I promise,” Octavia says, and it's soothing just to hear her voice on the other end of the call. “Are you okay? How's it going with the new roommate?”

“It's… A learning curve, that's for sure. She's got so much _stuff_. But she cooks and she cleans up after herself, so I guess I can't really complain. I'm fine.”

“You know that you don't have to do this, right? I don't want you putting yourself out--”

“Stop. Of course I have to do this, O. You're my little sister and I'm going to get you out of that place,” he tells her with conviction.

Octavia's quiet for a long moment. “Have you heard any more from Pike?”

“I spoke to him on Tuesday. He said he'll try to set up a meeting with the prison sometime next week.”

She's quiet again, and the silence between them makes his heart ache. His sister's always been talkative and full of life, but every phone call she's becoming more and more pensive. Bellamy hates that he can't do more for her, that he can't just break her out of that stupid prison himself. There's still six months until her hearing, so until then these weekly phone calls and the occasional visit are all they have.

“I miss you, Bell, ” Octavia whispers.

Bellamy balls his shaking hand into a fist, tries to blink away the tears in his eyes. “I miss you, too. I promise you'll be home before you know it.”

* * *

“I stand corrected,” Raven announces, pausing to take a very large sip from her wine glass. “This place is very nice. And, you know, you haven't been dismembered yet, so that's good too.”

Clarke laughs. She's a little tipsy and feeling genuinely happy for the first time in a while. It's her first Friday night in the new apartment and she'd decided to invite Raven and fellow teacher, Harper, over to celebrate that she's finally self-sufficient. Raven had brought dinner-to-go from Grounders and Harper had arrived with two bottles of wine to see them through the evening.

“The decor isn't even bad. For a man this Bellamy guy has been blessed with good taste,” Harper chimes in with a giggle.

“Blessed with good looks, too,” Raven adds, picking up one of the photographs from the bookcase. Wiggling her eyebrows at Clarke she says, “Either he's got a Ted Bundy thing going on or you've just lucked out.”

Harper goes over to see the photograph. “Wow. Clarke, this is really the guy you're sharing a bed with? Is there a way to share the bed with him in it too?”

“Shut up. He's got a girlfriend,” Clarke tells them, reprimanding.

“The one that thought you were a lesbian?” Raven asks.

Clarke grimaces, taking a sip from her drink. “Yeah, that one. Besides, I'm not even remotely interested in that kind of stuff right now. I've had enough relationship ups-and-downs to last a lifetime.”

“Preach,” Harper says, knocking her wine glass against Clarke's with a wry grin. The other girl had also recently come out of a long-term relationship, so they could truly empathise with one another. “I do miss sex though. So much.”

“Haven't you tried one night stands? God, I really don't know how I'd survive without casual sex. Like, there's so much pressure at work at the moment and I swear, if I wasn't able to get a good fuck every now and again, then I'd have probably set off a bomb in the break room by now,” Raven says, and it's clear she's not joking about the bomb part.

Raven and Clarke had met back in college after learning that they were both dating the same asshole at the same time. Whilst Clarke had decided to give love another try with Lexa, Raven, on the other hand, had sworn off relationships completely and had decided to instead focus on her career as an aerospace engineer. So far her ambitions have paid off and her genius mind is finally getting the recognition it deserves at a private aerospace company. Clarke’s endlessly proud of her best friend.

“I thought you loved it at Eligius?” Clarke asks.

“I do, I do. It's just a lot sometimes, you know? Being a genius comes with a heavy workload,”

“I'd trade you my eighth graders any day,” Harper offers with a chuckle.

“Pfft, the rocket scientists I work with are basically just middle-schoolers with degrees and driving licenses. You'd be in your element, Harp.”

Their laughter continues late into the night and Clarke is pleasantly surprised to find that she doesn't even think about Lexa the entire time. Once they're all admittedly a little drunk and too tired to carry on, the three of them decide to call it a night.

It’s only as she goes to put the empty wine bottles in the recycling caddy that Clarke notices Bellamy’s left a reply on a post-it note next to her own. She grins as she reads it, scribbling down a response of her own underneath.

_Your taste buds obviously have very low standards, but thank you. If I ever decide to give fame a try then I’ll make sure to consider Masterchef as an option. And if I hypothetically win then I’ll make sure you get a signed copy of my debut cookbook. Clarke x_

It’s nice to have heard from him, even if it’s only in note form. She had been worried that he didn’t appreciate her cooking when he hadn’t touched the other foods she’d left out for him, but she can see now that he was probably just being polite and didn’t want to take any of it without her permission. Not a bad trait to have in a roommate.

Grabbing her phone and wine glass, she decides to head to bed. All in all, she’s had a long week and getting some rest would really do her the world of good.

She puts her drink down on the bedside table and turns to grab some pajamas out of her dresser. It had been a hard feat, fitting her furniture in amongst Bellamy’s own, but thankfully her things haven’t overwhelmed the bedroom too much. She’s made a real effort not to seem like she’s taking over his personal space.

As Clarke turns back around, her elbow connects with the wine glass and it’s sent flying off of the table. Cursing under her breath, she scrambles to her feet to find her comforter is now drenched with red wine. _Great_. She gracelessly pulls it off the bed and is relieved to find that it hasn’t soaked through to the bedsheets or to Bellamy’s mattress.

With a frustrated groan, she shucks her comforter into the corner of the room and figures there’s really no point trying to wash and dry it at this time of night. She will have to sort it out tomorrow. Besides… Well, there’s always Bellamy’s comforter, folded away on top of the wardrobe where he puts it every evening before she comes home. Clarke’s sure that he would never notice if she borrowed it just for one night.

Trying not to think about how she might be breaking some uncertain rule between them, she stretches to pull down the spare comforter and lays it out on the bed. The covers match his pillow on the left side of the bed, very soft, with light blue and grey stripes.

Clarke turns the light off and climbs into bed, determined to stop worrying and get some sleep instead. She tries not to overthink it, even when she can’t help but notice how much his sheets smell of him -- rich, warm and musky, like the cedarwood shower gel he keeps in the bathroom. In a really weird way, it’s actually kind of nice.

* * *

_Do it. I'll be able to tell people I rented my bed out to a famous person._

_P.S. there's some pasta sauce in the refrigerator, you're welcome to help yourself to it. I promise it's edible._

_I'll make sure to mention you in my best-selling memoir :) The pasta sauce was great btw. Also are we sharing milk? If so, I can pick up some more this week x_

_Some more milk would be great, thanks._

_Hey, does the HDMI cable not work? Tried to plug in my laptop to go through a presentation for my class and it wouldn't show on the screen. I'm not great with technology x_

_HDMI is a bit temperamental. Try the lowest port. Let me know if it still doesn't work._

_P.S. Your brownies were really good. Thanks for sharing._

_Lowest port worked! You're a genius. Also, what's up with the guy in 1A? Is he in a ska band or am I having auditory hallucinations? x_

_That's Murphy and his band is called SkaKru. They play at Nightblood every 3rd Tuesday of the month and practice in his apartment on Sundays. I don't miss Sundays at home._

_Damn it. I'm busy every 3rd Tuesday of the month. I guess I'll invest in some earplugs! x_

_Lamb tagine is in the slow-cooker! (I gave some to Murphy too!) x_

_Don't feed him. You'll be stuck with him now._

_P. S. Food was delicious as always._

* * *

Bellamy loves his job at the museum. As far as crappy jobs with unsociable hours go, it's the best he's had in years. And without a college degree until his belt, it's the only way he could ever really work in a museum without ending up sequestered to the gift shop or cafeteria.

At night, he has the whole place to himself and it's a little bit like being a kid inside a candy store. He takes his time doing his rounds and checks, lingering around the exhibits and individual pieces that spike his interest.

It's a good place to get a lot of thinking done, too. He's had a lot on his mind for a while now.

There's Octavia and Pike and the hearing. Then there's Echo, who's insisting on getting him his own key cut for her place. Bellamy isn't quite sure if their relationship is there yet, but it's thoughtful of her and he figures it's not worth having a commitment solidifying talk right now. And then, of course, there's Clarke.

The post-it notes are becoming a daily thing now. Together, they've assembled entire collages of conversation throughout the entire apartment. In a weird way, it's almost like they're friends, despite the fact that they've never even met. She’s funny and insightful, and she’s clearly a good person if she’s taken it upon herself to befriend John Murphy of all people.

Part of him thinks that maybe he should dial it down a notch, but he can't seem to help himself. He likes talking to Clarke, even if it is just via notes and the odd text message here and there.

He's had roommates before and they were fine, but it's an altogether different experience living with someone that you never see at all. It's like they're just two entities that coexist, circling each other but never quite meeting.

In the early hours of a particularly long shift, Bellamy's struck by the thought that she's currently fast asleep in his bed. For a second, he's tempted to look Clarke up on social media so that he can finally put a real face to the image in his head. She hasn't put up any photos of herself around the apartment, which means that after almost three weeks of living together he still has no clue what she looks like.

Ultimately, he thinks better of it. He doesn't want this post-it note thing they've got going on to change. And if they ever do meet in person, Bellamy doesn't want to feel guilty about stalking her on the Internet beforehand.

He makes himself another coffee instead and decides to take a walk down to the exhibit on Ancient Sumeria. Anything to do with classical civilisations always serves to help to take his mind off things, anyway.

* * *

The first Saturday of October rolls around quickly, and Wells insists on taking Clarke out to lunch to check in and see how she’s coping with her new living arrangements. They find a cute bistro a few blocks from her new apartment, overlooking a picturesque little park, and as soon as they’re seated Wells wastes no time in getting to the point.

“So your weirdo landlord hasn’t tried anything then?”

“ _What_? God, Wells, no,” Clarke huffs, indignant. “We’re both sticking to the timeshare agreement. I really don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

Wells shots her a dubious look. They’ve been friends forever and he’s always been protective, but sometimes Clarke wishes he’d loosen up a bit and remember that she’s an adult. “Sorry, I can’t help it. It’s just… Unconventional, I guess. Have you even met him yet?”

“We haven’t met, but we exchange notes,” Clarke tells him.

“Notes?”

“Yeah,” she says, flushing a little for no good reason. “We write notes to each other, like when I didn't know when garbage day was or just to talk about our day. Just little notes -- it's friendly.”

“I see,” Wells says, still looking mildly concerned. She wants to tell him that if he keeps frowning he'll get a permanent crease in his forehead, but a waitress comes to take their order before she has a chance.

“So how's work?”

Wells shrugs. “Busy. We're working on a couple of big cases at the moment -- people wrongly tried for crimes they didn't commit, that kind of thing. It's heavy stuff.”

“Wow. Look at you,” Clarke says, grinning at him. “My best friend's really a big shot lawyer now. I'm so proud of you, Wells.”

“You can be proud of me when I win my first case,” he grumbles, but there's a sentimental glint in his eye now.

“I'm proud of you now and I'll be proud of you then, too. Just don't stress yourself out too much. Promise me you won't forget you have a social life.”

Wells smiles back at her. “I promise. You're too hard to get rid of anyway.”

They make conversation over lunch and it's nice. Clarke and Wells haven't seen each other much in the past few weeks, so it's good to be able to catch up and rant to each other. She feels infinitely lucky sometimes that she ended up living in the same city as her childhood best friend.

“Just gotta go to the bathroom,” Wells says, excusing himself from the table after they've finished eating.

Clarke waves him off, still busy picking at the last of her sweet potato fries.

He takes a few minutes, so she decides to kill time by scrolling through her Instagram feed.

She really only uses social media to stay in contact with a couple of distant relatives and showcase some of her artwork, but it's still a harmless way to occupy herself for a few little while.

Well, usually harmless, that is.

Clarke just so happens to have the bad luck right at that moment to scroll down her newsfeed and see that Lexa's updated her status for the first time in months.

_Lexa Woods is engaged to Costia Morgan._

_Well, fuck_ , Clarke thinks. There's even a picture of the happy couple too -- and damn it, they really do look happy. She's too stunned to form a coherent thought in her head for a long moment.

 _Lexa's engaged_.

Somehow, this is a curveball she really didn't see coming.

As soon as Wells gets back to the table, Clarke suggests that they find somewhere that serves alcohol instead -- a lot of it


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm blown away again by all of the kudos and wonderful comments this is getting. You guys are the absolute best! 
> 
> A few more characters will be introduced in this chapter that tie in with the rest of the storyline. I really hope you guys enjoy it, please let me know what you think in the comments!

_I'm sorry I drank your bottle of rum. Extra sorry if you were saving it for a special occasion. I promise I'll replace it. Found out that my ex got engaged. We only broke up a few months ago._

_P.S. In case it wasn't evident by the empty rum bottle, I think I might be spiralling a little bit :( x_

_Don't worry about it, I'm not a big fan of rum anyway. That really sucks though. I'm sorry._

_It really sucks. Not that I wanted her back, but I just wasn't expecting her to move on so quickly. I told Murphy and he said that he'll get SkaKru to write a mean song about her, so at least I've got that to look forward to x_

_Can't believe you're still encouraging him. Let me know on a scale of 1 to 10 how bad the song is._

_It's a solid 5. The lyrics were really mean, but the music was kind of terrible. He tried his best though!_

_P.S. There's minestrone soup leftover if you want some x_

_Minestrone soup was great. Murphy’s song sounds like it was awful. Hope you're feeling better._

* * *

Some days Clarke wonders why the hell she ever decided to choose teaching as a profession. 

In a different life, she might’ve been a doctor like her mother, saving lives every day and making a real difference. But no, she had dared to think it was actually possible to instill a lifelong passion for the arts in middle-schoolers. How woefully naive of her. 

With the exception of just a handful of doting students, it's usually her versus an army of unfocused and uninterested prepubescent humans. 

Clarke thinks she might have met her match with Madi Louwoda. 

“It's supposed to be Dwayne Johnson,” Madi says of the clump of dirty pebbles she's glued together haphazardly. “I call it The Rock. It's impressionism.”

Clarke eyeballs the sculpture. “Do you mean abstract expressionism?”

“Yeah, whatever,” Madi mumbles with a shrug. Apparently done with art for the day, she flips open a comic book and proceeds to use The Rock as a paperweight to hold one of the pages down whilst she reads. Clarke holds back an exasperated groan with real effort. 

“Did you know that comic books are technically a form of art? Illustrators can be very successful,” Clarke tries, determined to get through to this kid. “They're highly skilled, too.”

Madi rubs a hand over her face, clearly annoyed that Clarke is still lingering next to her desk. “Is that why you became a teacher? Because you weren't skilled enough to become an actual artist?”

“Madi--”

“Or is it because you actually enjoy boring people to death?”

Clarke has no response to that. She's pretty sure she's never met a twelve-year-old before that's this freaking mean. 

“I did the stupid assignment. Please can I just read my comic now?” Madi says, sounding increasingly apathetic. 

Deciding it's probably better not to get into with Madi right now, Clarke sighs deeply and walks off to see what her other students are up to. It's possible that at least some of her class might have taken their assignment seriously. 

When the bell finally rings for lunch, Clarke feels her shoulders physically sag with relief.

* * *

_I think the antichrist was in my fourth period class today. Have kids always been ridiculously mean or did I just go to a nice, boring school? Do I seem boring to you? Stupid question. We've never met. Anyway, I hope your day was better than mine! x_

_I don't think you're boring. Don't worry, kids have always been mean. I think it's something most people grow out of by adulthood if they're lucky._

_P. S. There's leftover Thai in the fridge, feel free to help yourself._

_Thank you. Thai food was amazing, was it from that place down by the YMCA? They do the best egg rolls. You should try them next time x_

_Package for you in the kitchen. The lady from 3B tried to steal it, but I bribed her. You're welcome. Also not a fan of egg rolls, I'm afraid._

_How can you not like egg rolls?! What kind of monster do I live with?! Also, thank you for saving my package :) How exactly did you bribe her? x_

_They're just so overrated. Dumplings > egg rolls. I bribed her with a plate of the cookies that you made. Also, thank you for the cookies -- they were amazing as always. The Lady in 3B asked for your recipe. _

_It's a family secret, so it would be treasonous to pass it on. My ancestors would not be pleased. We'd probably end up with a poltergeist on our hands!_

_P.S. Do you mind if I turn the heat on yet? It's getting a little chilly x_

_No poltergeists please. I'll let 3B know it's a no-go. And turn the heat on whenever you want, you don't have to ask. Spare blankets are under the bed if you get really cold._

* * *

Bellamy thinks that feeling tired might just be his default setting at this point. He keeps taking double shifts, more to keep himself busy than for the extra money, and the strain is starting to get to his body. 

Echo isn't particularly happy about him doing overtime either, but that's nothing new. He's worked two out of the past four weekends and she had colourfully told him both times how much it bothered her. 

It's something that he can't really explain to her, and it's probably not like she would understand it anyway. If he's just sitting around doing nothing, he can't escape from his growing anxieties over Octavia's situation. At least if he's working then he's able to keep himself distracted. 

The meeting with Pike and Octavia apparently hadn't gone well. There were no new leads, nothing to really speak of, and Pike had pretty much told O that it might be a good idea to consider changing her plea to guilty. 

Sometimes Bellamy didn't know what the hell he was paying Pike for. 

His alarm beeps obnoxiously for a third time, shaking him from his drowsy thoughts. 5:23pm. _Fantastic_. Now he's probably going to be late for work. 

It's a real effort to drag himself out of bed and into the shower. The hot pulse of the water does little to soothe his aching muscles, and he throws on his uniform at the same time as brushing his teeth. His dark curls are a mess, but he knows from experience there's little that can be done to tame them in such a short space of time. Oh, well. 

His slightly disheveled appearance will have to do. It's not like he'll actually see anyone at work, anyway. 

Just as he's about to leave, a silver picture frame by the front door catches his eye. It's new and it's definitely not his. He hadn't even noticed Clarke had finally decided to put some photos up.

It's a nice picture, with two young women standing side by side in graduation gowns. 

There's no way for him to tell which one's Clarke, but both women are undeniably pretty. The brunette is more his usual type -- long dark hair, athletic, looks a little fiery. But the blonde standing on the right is something else altogether. She's beautiful in a soft, natural way, and her smile looks real and happy. The kind of smile that probably lights up a whole room. 

Bellamy figures there's no use wondering about the picture right now. He really doesn't have the time. As soon as he's out the front door, he plugs his headphones in and sets off towards the bus stop. 

He barely makes it a hundred yards down the street when he feels a heavy tap on his shoulder.

Twisting round, he finds Murphy of all people standing behind him. Bellamy huffs, taking one headphone out. He really doesn't have time for Murphy’s crap right now. 

“Long time no see, neighbour,” Murphy greets conversationally. It's odd, seeing as they're not really on friendly terms, but then again, Murphy is an oddity in general. Bellamy's learnt to expect the unexpected with him. “Glad to hear you're finally going to come and see SkaKru play soon. This is going to be our biggest show yet!”

“I'm -- wait, what?” This is definitely the first Bellamy has heard about this. 

“Yeah, your new bedfellow bought tickets. She said one was for you. I think she's kinda got a thing for me, you know,” Murphy tells him with a wink. 

“She probably just feels sorry for you, Murphy,” Bellamy says, clipped. 

It's a little harsh, but Murphy is unphased. “You wound me, Blake. Who vomited in your cornflakes this morning?”

“Sorry. I didn't mean -- I'm just running late for work.”

“Well, don't let me keep you,” Murphy replies, waving him off exaggeratedly. “Nice glasses, by the way. Gives you a grouchy Clark Kent kind of vibe.” 

Bellamy curses under his breath, realising he's forgotten to put his contacts in. Of course he had to forget something -- it's just his luck today. He doesn’t have time to go back now, he’ll just have to make do with his reading glasses. 

“See you at the show!” Murphy calls out behind him, like there's a chance in hell that Bellamy will actually go to it. He's definitely going to have to talk to Clarke about this at some point. 

* * *

_Thanks for getting more coffee filters. Also, I bumped into Murphy yesterday. Anything you want to tell me?_

_Did he mention his show? He definitely mentioned it, didn't he. I was just trying to be supportive and this one is on a Saturday night next month, so I had no excuse this time. If you don't want the ticket then that's fine, just let me know x_

_I'll think about it. No promises._

_You never know, it might actually be fun! He even promised to play the song about my ex-girlfriend. You wouldn't want to miss that, would you now? :)_

_P. S. Seeing as I'm such a nice roommate, I saved you some taco mix. Enjoy xx_

_Tacos were great, thanks. Still not making any promises. I'm not a live music kind of person._

_Now I know you're lying! You've got at least ten vinyls that were recorded live and I've seen the old ticket stubs you keep pinned above your desk. It's incredible really, the lengths you'll go to get out of coming to this thing. SkaKru are not that bad!!! xx_

_I beg to differ. Important-looking mail for you on the counter._

_P.S. If you keep bugging me about this show then I’ll be forced to consider finding a new roommate, and I really don’t want that x_

* * *

As Clarke peels the post-it notes and taped scraps of paper off of the refrigerator, tables, walls and (in one case) the inside of the trash can, she finds herself grinning. It’s a weird way to have gotten to know Bellamy over the last few weeks, and she’s not quite sure when it evolved from the odd note here and there to full-blown conversations between the two of them. 

She follows a trail of heart-to-hearts behind the couch, noticing that in most cases she tends to write about five times as many words as Bellamy does. And that her notes tend to be a lot more personal and revealing than his are. It’s kind of strange reading it all back. They still haven’t actually met, and yet, she’s more open with him than she is with some people she’s known for years. 

There’s a small part of her that’s hoping she’ll bump into him at some point -- maybe in the hall, one on their way out and the other coming home -- but it’s highly unlikely. Their work schedules are completely different, and the whole point of the timeshare agreement between the two of them was so that they wouldn’t have to worry about accidentally running into each other. But still, she can’t help but feel a bit curious. 

If asked, Clarke would say that she and Bellamy are probably friends at this point. It's a little bit like having a penpal, she thinks. Penpals that just so happen to sleep in the same bed. 

He's the best roommate-friend-penpal she could ask for really, given the circumstances of their situation. Plus, it's been just over a month now and he still hasn't murdered her yet. That's always a good thing. 

She has her arms full by the time she’s gathered up all the notes she can find. Not having the heart to throw them away with the recycling, Clarke’s dug out an old shoebox to put them in for now. She can be a bit sentimental like that sometimes. It’s nice to have memories to look back on and, besides, these little bits of paper make up her entire relationship with Bellamy. There’s no way she can just throw them out. 

With her tidying up finished, Clarke's ready to settle in on the couch for the night and catch up with some of her shows on Netflix. She’s had a long day and it’s nice being able to relax in her own space.

She's grown to really love their apartment. It’s far cosier and more homey than Lexa’s house ever was. Clarke likes to point these things out to herself every now and again. Even though she’s feeling pretty okay now about Lexa getting engaged, it still helps to occasionally remind herself that she’s also much better off now that their relationship is over. 

Clarke’s just about to hit play on an episode of a crime docuseries when a shrill noise rings out through the apartment. Frowning, she looks around to find the source of the ringing. It’s definitely not her phone. Then she sees it -- an honest-to-God land-line. She didn’t know people still had those.

She scrambles to her feet to answer it before the ringing stops. “Um… Hello?” 

“You’re not Bellamy,” says a female voice, suspicious. “Is he home?”

“He’s not, I’m afraid. I’m Clarke, his roommate. Can I… Shall I take a message for him?” 

The woman is quiet for a second. It’s definitely not Echo, but Clarke really has no idea who else it could be. “Ah, so you’re Clarke then. I’m Bellamy’s little sister, Octavia. He’s told me a lot about you.”

“About me?” Clarke asks, twirling the cord of the phone around her finger like she used to do when she was a little girl. It's like muscle memory. 

“Yeah,” Octavia laughs. “Mostly nice stuff, don’t worry. He said you’ve got too many clothes, but that you’re a good cook. He’s already gone to work then, I take it?”

“I think so,” Clarke replies. It feels a little surreal talking to Bellamy’s sister. She didn’t even know he had a sister before now. “I’m sorry you missed him. Have you tried his cell?”

“Can’t. I’ve only got one call credit for the week,” Octavia says, then after a beat she adds, “I'm in a high-security prison in case you didn't already know. It's a long story, but the short version is that I'm in for a crime I didn't commit.”

Clarke’s mouth falls open. “Wow… That's terrible. I had no idea. Are you okay?”

It’s probably a stupid question to ask, but Clarke doesn’t really know what else to say. To her surprise, Octavia starts laughing like it’s the funniest thing she’s heard all year. Now Clarke really doesn’t know what to say.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Octavia replies once she’s caught her breath. “Thanks for asking, though. I’ve been here for five months already, five more to go until my hearing comes around. I’m still acclimatising, I guess. That’s what Bellamy calls it -- acclimatising.”

“How bad is it in there?”

“It’s no Hilton, that’s for sure, but it’s alright. I’ve got my own cell and I can see visitors twice a month. I’m pretty lucky, compared to some of the other people in here.”

From where Clarke’s standing, she doesn’t sound lucky at all. “Um, was there a message you wanted me to pass on to Bellamy?”

“Yeah, sure,” Octavia says. There’s a loud noise in the background, cutting her off momentarily. “Aren’t you going to ask what I’m in for, Clarke?”

“No,” Clarke says quickly, then adds, “Do you want to tell me?”

“Well, yeah. But people normally just ask outright.”

“Oh, well, it’s not really my place to judge. You’re Bellamy’s sister and you called to talk to him. And anyway, we were talking about how bad prison is, and that’s true regardless of what you did or didn’t do. Prison can’t be nice.”

“It isn’t,” Octavia says, then pauses. She’s quiet for a minute or so. Clarke thinks that the other girl might have changed her mind about telling her, but then she speaks again. “I got charged with armed robbery, but I didn’t do it. I was dating this guy and didn't find out until later on that he was part of a gang. Anyway, we broke up and he got really mad about it, but after a couple of months it all seemed like it had blown over. Then one night I'm out drinking with some friends and on the way home I stopped in a store to grab some more alcohol. I see my ex-boyfriend in the store and he sees me, and it was just one of those awful, awkward moments you know? I leave and five minutes later, he pulls out a gun and robs the place. The clerk picked me out of a line-up and said that I was part of it. But I wasn't. I was so drunk I could barely walk straight. Nothing I said mattered though because I have a tattoo of his gang’s sigil, even though I had no idea what it meant when I got it. So yeah, now I'm in prison.”

“God, that’s so shit. I’m sorry, Octavia,” Clarke tells her, sincere. No wonder Bellamy had never mentioned anything about his sister. 

“Anyway, that’s my sob story out of the way. I was calling to wish Bellamy a happy birthday for tomorrow, so if you could tell him that I tried to get in touch then I’d really appreciate it.”

“It’s his birthday tomorrow? He never said anything!”

Octavia snorts. “Yeah, sounds like him. I’ve got to go, but… Thanks for listening, Clarke. It was nice talking to you. Look after my brother for me, alright?”

Clarke pauses, surprised by the request. She’s about to explain that she’s probably not the best person to task with looking after Bellamy, seeing as she hasn’t actually met him, but the call abruptly cuts off before she can respond. 

She puts the phone back on the wall and leans against the doorframe heavily, her mind going at a hundred miles an hour as she tries to wrap her head around all of the things Octavia told her. Her heart aches for Bellamy and his sister. She wishes there was some way she could help them.

Remembering what Octavia had said about it being Bellamy’s birthday tomorrow, Clarke figures that, at the very least, she can help with that. With a renewed sense of purpose, she makes her way towards the kitchen and digs out her baking equipment. 

She may not know much about prison sentences or the criminal justice system, but she does know how to make a damn good cake. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!
> 
> It took me a long while to get this chapter finished and I'm still not 100% happy with it, but there's not much more I can do with it. So here you go, hopefully you'll all like it just as much as the last few! Bellamy is a little angsty in this, but it's all relative and he'll definitely lighten up as the rest of the story goes on.
> 
> And again, thank you so much for all the kind feedback on this story. I'm genuinely amazed by the response and it means so much to me. Thank you guys! 
> 
> Without further ado, here's chapter four. Let me know what you think :) x

On the matter of his birthday, Bellamy had preemptively decided that there was little point in celebrating it this year. After all, there was little to actually celebrate. 

His little sister was still in prison and he was still no closer to getting her out of there. He’d never spent a birthday without Octavia there by his side, and the thought of having to suffer through it had been in the back of his mind for weeks. 

Besides, he was officially on the wrong side of thirty now. That milestone apparently counted for something in a person’s life, seeing as most people were usually married with kids and a mortgage or in the thick of a successful career by now. He knew it was stupid and conformist, but Bellamy couldn’t help but feel like he was behind with those sort of things. 

All in all, he leaves work on the morning of his thirty-first birthday feeling a little miserable. 

Usually he can keep up a front, at the very least. Paste a smile on his face and just get on with his day, but quite frankly, it’s exhausting. He doesn’t have the energy today.

His first intention is to find a bar -- somewhere, anywhere, he’ll literally travel out of state if he has to -- that serves alcohol at seven o’clock in the morning. But then he sees Echo leaning against one of the marble columns outside the museum entrance and figures that drowning his sorrows in alcohol will have to wait. 

He knows he should be happy to see her, that he should be pleased that she made an effort, but positive emotions are a bit of a stretch for him today. The hesitant smile on her face tells him she’s already worked that out, anyway.

“Should I say happy birthday or unhappy birthday?” Echo asks, greeting him with a quick peck on the lips. She lifts up a to-go bag from the coffee shop across the street. “I got you a peanut butter muffin. Figured you wouldn’t be in the mood for an actual cake, so…”

“Thank you,” he manages. 

They start walking towards the bus stop together. Echo slides her hand into his and tells him about the latest class she’s joined at the gym. Bellamy says the right things, nods like he’s listening, but all he can think about is how much he just wants today to be over already.

“Did you want to check out that new bottomless brunch place in Eden Heights?” She asks when they’re on the bus, halfway towards his apartment.

“Sure,” Bellamy says, figuring that bottomless brunches usually serve some form of sparkling wine cocktail. “I’ll need to shower first though.”

“That’s fine. I’ll make us a reservation whilst I wait for you to get ready,” Echo suggests, amenable. 

When they get back to his apartment, it takes Bellamy a long moment to notice what's different. 

For one, the apartment’s cleaner than usual and Clarke's apparently taken down the countless notes that were beginning to cover every surface. If he's being honest, it bothers him a little bit that she's gotten rid of them -- it was kind of nice having their conversations spread around the place. But he’s also certain that Echo would’ve had something to say about it, so he can't really begrudge Clarke right now for having tidied up the place. 

It's only when he walks into the living room that he sees that his roommate has had a very productive night indeed. 

There are multicoloured balloons everywhere and on the dining table is an actual birthday cake, with fluffy blue frosting and sprinkles and cursive lettering that reads _Happy B-day!_

Bellamy definitely wasn't expecting this. He hasn't had an actual birthday cake in years, let alone a homemade one. It's really very sweet of her, but he doesn't even know how Clarke found out it was his birthday today. In fact, he's pretty certain he purposefully hadn't mentioned it. 

“This is… cute,” Echo states, appraising the decorations with an unreadable expression. “I didn’t realise you and Clarke were so friendly.”

Bellamy shrugs, not really knowing what to say to that. 

As he walks over to the dining table to appraise the surprise cake, he sees that there's also an envelope addressed to him next to it. Confused, he opens it up and reads the letter inside. 

_Happy birthday, Bellamy!_

_I can't believe you didn't think to tell me it was your birthday today. I'm guessing you're not the sort of person who makes a big deal out of birthdays, but, luckily for you, I am!_

_Octavia called last night to speak to you and we had a really interesting chat. She's very talkative. And you never even told me you had a sister! Anyway, Octavia seemed pretty bummed that she couldn't wish you a happy birthday herself, so I thought that this was the least I could do._

Bellamy pauses. He needs a second -- this is a lot to take in all at once. 

Clarke had spoken to Octavia and she had apparently been _talkative_. He doesn't remember the last time his sister was anything close to talkative. That thought alone makes him feel stupidly anxious for so many reasons. He’s so used to people harshly judging his sister, however it seems like Clarke isn’t this time. He doesn't know exactly what they'd spoken about, but he could probably guess. The hearing, maybe. His birthday, definitely. It's all a little surreal. 

_Below is the contact number for my friend, Wells Jaha. He’s an attorney and the firm he works for specialises in criminal law. I’ve talked to him a little bit already and he agreed that he would look into Octavia’s case, but I can’t promise much more than that right now. You should speak to him yourself. He's a really good guy._

_I hope I haven’t overstepped. I just wanted to try to help your sister._

_Hope you enjoy the cake :)_

_Clarke xx_

He reads it again and again, trying to get the words on the page to compute inside his brain. This is too good to be true. Clarke is too good to be true. People just don’t do these kinds of things for other people in real life. 

Turning to Echo with wide eyes, he says, “Clarke knows a lawyer who’s agreed to look into O’s case. This is… I can't believe it.”

“Bellamy--” Echo starts, but he cuts her off excitedly.

“This is amazing, right?” His hands are shaking. He hasn't allowed himself to feel hope like this in a while. Sure, nothing may actually come of it, but this is still really great. It might be the first time he's smiled all day. 

“Slow down,” Echo says. “She said he's agreed to look into it, right? This lawyer she knows hasn't actually done anything yet.”

“It's _something_ , though. There's not been something for so long.”

Echo sighs, looking both a little exasperated and a little pitiful at the same time. Crossing her arms across her chest, she says, “Bellamy… Don’t you think that maybe it's time you came to terms with Octavia's situation? You're barely the same person anymore. All you do is work and worry about her -- it's not healthy. And it's really putting a strain on you. On us.”

Bellamy doesn't quite understand what she's saying. It feels like she's physically slapped him.

“What are you talking about?”

“Look, forget I said anything. It's your birthday--” Echo tries, apparently backpedalling, but Bellamy wants to hear this now. She's said too much already for this conversation to be put on the back burner like so many others. 

“No, go on,” Bellamy insists. 

“You really want to do this now? Fine. I miss you -- how you used to be. I miss _us_ , Bellamy. You keep pushing me away, and you're losing yourself deeper and deeper in this insane pursuit to help your sister. I just think that if you accept that things are the way they are then you'll be happier. Octavia’s in prison, Bellamy, and she’s not going to be getting out anytime soon.”

“What are you suggesting, Echo? That I just give up on her? Just like that?” His voice is getting louder, angrier. It's a hateful kind of rage that comes with hearing someone you try so hard to love saying the worst things imaginable. “She's the only family I've got left!”

“I'm here, too, or did you forget that somewhere along the way? And this lawyer -- it's not fair for Clarke to give you false hope. Why is she even getting involved?”

Bellamy closes his eyes, trying to control his anger. “I never asked her to.”

“Well, it's not right that she's interfering! I'm trying to look out for you, don't you see? You're so focused on Octavia that you've lost sight of everything else in your life,” Echo bites back. Her eyes are narrowed at him, but she's crying now. She never cries. Bellamy feels terrible, but the rage in his gut won't subside. “What about me, Bellamy? I can't keep pretending like this is all okay when it's not.”

Bellamy stumbles backwards into one of his mismatched chairs. He's trying to breathe through his emotions, careful not to say anything he'll later regret. No matter how angry he is, he'd never purposely hurt Echo. 

But there's a question digging away at him in the back of his mind, one that's been there for a while now but he hadn't dared to speak into existence. 

He swallows thickly. “You do believe that O's innocent, right?”

“I'm trying to talk to you about us, not about what your sister did or didn't do!”

“Echo. I need to know.”

He watches as she rubs a hand over his face in frustration. “Can't you just listen to me? This isn't healthy, Bellamy. You can keep on believing she didn't do it if that's what you want to believe, but you need to accept the fact that she's in prison and that she's going to be there for years. You can't keep fighting this.”

“Do you still think she’s guilty?” The words taste horrible on his tongue. “You do, don’t you?”

When Echo doesn't say anything, he knows. She really does think that Octavia did it. She doesn't have to say it out loud. 

Bellamy closes his eyes slowly. Even though he's guessed for a while that she felt this way, it still feels different knowing it for a fact. In a strange way, it's almost a relief. The hot, burning anger subsides to numbness. There's no going back from this. 

Echo is sobbing now. He listens, his eyes still closed, and it feels like he's having an out of body experience. 

“This is it, isn't it?” She says, voice barely above a whisper. 

Bellamy barely recognises his own voice when he finally speaks. “Yeah, it is.” 

When he finally opens his eyes again, Echo's gone and he's alone. The front door slams shut loudly behind her.

* * *

Clarke comes home to work to find the longest note that Bellamy has ever written to her. It’s smudged, almost unreadable in places, and he’s left on the dining table next to the untouched cake.

_Hi Clarke,_

_I’m a bit all over the place, but thank you so much for the birthday cake and for your letter. Really can’t thank you enough for getting in touch with you friend. I’ve already emailed him. We need all the help we can get. Can’t wait to tell Octavia about this._

_Echo and I broke up, just so you know. Before you ask, I really don’t want to talk about it right now. Just need to wallow for a few days. Thank you again for everything._

_Bellamy x_

She stares at it for a little while, wondering how the hell his day ended up so going so badly. It was his birthday, after all. Birthdays were supposed to be good days.

With a sigh, she picks up the cake and places it in the refrigerator. It doesn’t look like Bellamy’s touched anything in there either, so she can only guess that he probably hasn’t eaten anything today. 

Clarke doesn’t know exactly what to do, and then realises there isn’t actually much she can do right now. Break ups can be tough, and Bellamy has a lot on his plate regardless, so she figures letting him wallow for a day is probably for the best. But still, she can’t help being worried about him. She grabs a new post-it note, sticking it carefully down next to his own.

_I’m sorry. Are you okay? Xx_

His unusually long and incoherent note turns out to be a singular occurrence. For the next week or so his notes are short and almost verging on downright apathetic. She’s admittedly concerned, but she doesn’t want to push him. 

The most she can do is leave some dinner out for him everyday and not mention that it’s really obvious he isn’t cleaning up around the apartment. 

Sometimes it's really hard not to just ask him outright what exactly happened. From what Bellamy had previously told her, he and Echo had been together for a little over a year and seemed pretty happy together. There’s definitely more to the story, but he’d said he didn’t want to talk about it, so she doesn’t dare to bring it up. 

It's only when she's grading some of her eighth graders’ work that she stumbles across one of Madi’s drawings and she has a flash of inspiration. 

For once, Madi’s actually put a little effort into her artwork and it's surprisingly very good. Clarke had tasked her class with what she hoped was a fun drawing exercise, asking them to come up with something based on what they'd been learning in other classes that day. Madi had apparently taken her inspiration from whatever they'd been studying in history. 

It's titled Mr. & Mrs. Smith. She's drawn Hephaestus and Aphrodite in an action scene, reminiscent of the famous Brangelina flick, aiming weapons at each other in some kind of classical domestic setting. Clarke knows Bellamy is into mythology, as well as action movies, so she figures he might get a kick out of it. 

She leaves it out on the coffee table with a note underneath. 

_Apparently the antichrist has a sense of humour now. Thought you'd appreciate this. I'm very jealous of Aphrodite’s assault rifle xx_

The next day she comes home to find that he’s taken it upon himself to grade the drawing, giving Madi a generous A+ for her artistic prowess.

_This is brilliant. Love the pun! Thanks for sharing._

_P.S. Feeling a bit better now. I’m sorry about the mess. Promise to clean up this week and stop wallowing. Thank you for putting up with me x_

Well, that’s something at least, she thinks with a smile.

The truth is, it’s not just that she’s been worried about him. Clarke misses him, too, which is a little bit insane considering they still have yet to actually meet in person. But over the past week she’s missed their conversations and hearing about his day and reading his sarcastic replies. It’s felt weird not writing to each other as much as they usually do. 

But she’s happy that he’s feeling better. It makes her feel a bit better, too, in a roundabout kind of way.

* * *

It’s almost November by the time that Clarke finally manages to squeeze herself into Wells’ busy schedule, even if it is just for a quick coffee in between his endless important meetings. If it were anyone else, she’d be feeling a little offended that he’s got his laptop out in the middle of Starbucks, answering emails in between talking to her. But it’s typical Wells and she's in a good mood today, so instead she only feels a surge of affectionate amusement.

“Do you have an off button?” She asks teasingly, taking a bite of his untouched biscotti 

Wells doesn’t even look up from his keyboard. “Very funny, Griffin. I’ve just got to reply to this and then I’m all yours, I promise.”

“Don’t sweat it. I know you’re a very busy and very important lawyer,” 

“I’ll have you know I’m actually doing _you_ a favour right now, thank you very much. Finally got the case file back on your roommate’s sister, Octavia. I’m going to start drafting a list of questions to pass on to Bellamy as soon as I get back to the office.”

Clarke sits forward in her seat excitedly, almost spilling her caramel latte. “What did it say? Do you think you’ll be able to help? God, I hope you can help--”

“I’ll try my best to help,” Wells interrupts, shaking his head at her good-naturedly. “I think there’s some stuff we can definitely work with, though. Nobody ever went through the footage from the security cameras opposite the store and none of Octavia’s friends were ever asked to give a statement about that night. There's some holes I can definitely look into.”

“So that means you might be able to prove she didn’t have anything to do with the robbery?”

“I hope so,” Wells replies, sincere. When she'd called him the night before Bellamy's birthday and explained Octavia's predicament, Wells had been all ears and had agreed to look into it without a second thought. This was exactly the kind of stuff his firm dealt with. “The gang she mentioned, Ice Nation, they've been involved in some of our cases before. I've got info on them that could definitely help, too.”

“This is amazing. _You're_ amazing, Wells,” Clarke tells him. “Thank you for doing this.”

“It's kind of my job,” he mumbles, shrugging sheepishly. His fancy company phone buzzes then, drawing his attention away once more. 

“Another work email, really?” Clarke laughs, “Or have you got a secret girlfriend now?”

Wells scoffs, but it comes off a little hollow. “I don't have a secret girlfriend.”

Clarke stares at him hard, calculating. “It is a girl, isn't it?”

“I'm not talking about this with you,” Wells groans, gulping down a mouthful of his coffee to avoid having to say anything else. 

“Oh my god, you _do_ have a secret girlfriend! Who is she? Do I know her? Wells, how could you not tell me about this!”

“I didn't say anything because you get like _this,_ like an overexcited puppy who can't believe I can actually get laid. We're not teenagers anymore, Clarke. And besides, it's pretty new so there's not really much to talk about,” he huffs, defensive. 

“But we're best friends,” Clarke insists. She's not dropping this. Wells hardly ever dates anyone. “I just want to know what's going on in your life and that you're happy, that's all.”

“I'm doing just fine,” he reassures her, taking another sip from his mug. “What about you, anyway? You haven't mentioned anyone new since things ended with Lexa.”

“Don't change the subject,”

“I'm not. I'm just curious. I mean, you guys have been over for months now and even before that you weren't really together-together for a while. Are you really telling me there's been no one?”

Clarke bites her lip, thinking. It _has_ been a while since she’s been romantically involved with anyone, let alone even sexually, but it’s not something she’s really been aware of. She’s been too busy enjoying her newfound independence and her new apartment to even think about that kind of stuff. It doesn’t feel like a bad thing that she’s been focusing on herself and her job and her friends, rather than actively seeking out a new relationship.

But Wells may have a point. He usually does. And, if she really thinks about it, it’s been closer to six months since she last had sexual contact with anyone, which may or may not be a little bit depressing. 

“I’m not in a rush,” she tells him decidedly. “If something happens organically then so be it. But for now, I’m happy as I am.”

“Good. And, for the record, I’m happy too,” Wells says, smiling.

“Does that mean you’ll tell me about this secret girlfriend that’s making you so happy then?” Clarke tries, wiggling her eyebrows at him.

“My lips are sealed,” he laughs, then a second later he frowns and asks, “Did you eat one of my biscottis?”

“Shush,” she tells him, patting his arm across the table. “Just go back to staring at your laptop so I can steal the other one, too.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter has taken a while to post and that it's not the longest, but I promise that there's some juicy stuff in this one! Life's been pretty busy this week, but I promise to have chapter six up by the weekend.
> 
> Once again, I cannot thank you all enough for all the amazing feedback this story has received so far. I'm both amazed and so happy that people are so invested in this! I love reading all the comments and discussions. 
> 
> If you've got time then please let me know what you think of this chapter too x

“So, do you like what I’ve done with the place?” Octavia asks, gesturing around the grey and clinical visiting hall. The movement makes the metal chains around her wrists clink in disapproval. Bellamy just stares at her, unamused. “Don’t look at me like that, Bell. I’m just trying to lighten the mood.”

“Yeah, now’s not really the time or the place for jokes,” he replies, his voice tight. It’s really hard for him to see her like this.

“You're in a cheerful mood today,” she surmises, crossing her arms. “I thought you’d be happy to see me, big brother.”

Bellamy’s heart twists inside his chest. Of course he’s happy to see her -- that obviously goes without saying -- but he would much prefer not having to fill out visitation forms weeks in advance in order to do so. “I’ll be happy when I get you out of this place, O.”

“I know, I know,” Octavia says, sighing. “But can we please just talk about anything other than me being in prison today? I just… I don’t want to think about it right now. Tell me what’s been going on with you. Have you heard anything from Echo?”

Bellamy glances around them. It's not like they've got much privacy, considering they're surrounded by other convicts and their respective visitors, as well as a handful of armed guards, but it'll have to do. It's all they've got for the time being.

“Not a word. She dropped off some of my things outside the apartment, but that's about it. It's been hard, I guess. But I'm starting to feel a bit better.”

Truthfully, the first week or so after ending things with Echo had been horrible. Bellamy had missed her terribly at first. A few times, he'd unthinkingly gone to call her only to realise that he couldn't do that anymore. That was the worst part really, not having someone to share things with anymore, but he had gradually come to realise that it was more to do with companionship and habit than with their actual relationship.

“Well, I don’t really think you’ve actually been in love with her for a while now,” Octavia states thoughtfully. “I know you, Bell. It was about routine with Echo, not love. I’m honestly glad things are over between you two.”

“Right,” he says, because ultimately she is right, but it doesn’t make him feel any better about it. “But that’s it, pretty much. Nothing else going on in my life right now.”

“Well, what have you been doing on the weekends? You’re not sleeping in the park or something stupid like that, right?”

Bellamy shakes his head. “No, no sleeping in parks. I’ve been picking up extra shifts at work and crashing on Miller and Jackson’s couch. Next weekend I thought I might go back to Mount Weather, see if anything’s changed at all in that shit hole of a town since we moved away.”

“Do you really have nothing better to do than visit our old hometown of all places?” Octavia asks with a grimace and he shrugs. “What about work? How’s that going? And your roommate, Clarke, how’s things with her?”

“Work’s fine,” Bellamy answers, then pauses before continuing. He doesn’t really know how to properly describe how things are with Clarke. She’s been brilliant, really, with his whole post-break up wallowing. And she’s the only person he really talks to right now, maybe the only person he’s ever really _talked_ to about some of the stuff that goes on in his head -- even if it is just via notes and scraps of papers. But it's a hard task to adequately define their relationship. Ultimately he settles on keeping his reply concise, mostly to avoid any further questions from Octavia that he isn’t fully equipped to answer right now. “Clarke’s been great. She said to say hi, actually. Her friend, Wells, followed through on looking into your case, too. Sent me over a bunch of notes and questions.”

“Seriously? Like, he’s seriously looking into things?” Octavia asks, like she can’t quite believe Wells has followed through.

Bellamy cracks a small smile, turning to riffle through his backpack. He retrieves the printed copy of Wells’s email and places it on the table in front of them. “Have a look at this, O.”

_Bellamy,_

_Please pass this on to your sister, Octavia. I feel like she might be able to shed some light on the following notes that I’ve written up._

_Let me be clear before continuing: this is not an offer of representation. This is informal advice that I’m offering as Clarke’s friend._

_\- It appears from the case file that the friends Octavia went out with that night have so far not been asked to appear as witnesses by either the defense or the prosecution. Please confirm._

_\- Octavia never recognised the gang involved in the armed robbery as “Ice Nation”, which leads me to believe that she didn’t know of her ex-boyfriend’s association with them until later. Under what knowledge and circumstances did she initially decide to get a tattoo associated with the aforementioned gang?_

_\- It appears that no surveillance footage, aside from the CCTV inside the store itself, has been pulled up in regards to the investigation. Was footage from the adjacent parking lot or the motel on the southern end of Bunker Street requested by Octavia’s legal representative?_

_Kind regards,_

_Wells Jaha_

He watches his little sister's face flit through a myriad of emotions as she reads the email, her mouth falling open slightly when she finally glances back up at him.

“Bellamy, this is…”

“Incredible, right?” Bellamy finishes, grinning at her. He’d been waiting all week to finally show her the email in person. “Pike never requested any footage or asked to call your friends as witnesses.”

Octavia huffs out a laugh, her eyes a little wet now. She looks so vulnerable in this moment that Bellamy’s reminded by just how young his sister is, as well as how much she still needs him. “What the hell were we paying him for exactly?”

“To sit on his ass, apparently,” Bellamy says, grabbing her hand in his own. “That doesn’t matter now though. I’ll talk to Wells and pay him whatever I have to pay him to represent you. We’ve got this, O.”

“We’ve got this,” she repeats quietly, gripping his hand. Bellamy squeezes hers in return. For both of them, it feels like a lifeline.

* * *

_How did your visit with Octavia go? Did you tell her I said hi? Sorry, that’s silly of me, you guys probably had important things to talk about. But still, I hope it was nice to see her at least. Also there’s new milk in the refrigerator xx_

_It went well, thanks. She says hi back and wants you to know that she really appreciates getting Wells to get in touch with us. You’re the best x_

_P.S. Have you been using my comforter? No problem if you are, just wondering._

_I’m glad he reached out, too. I really did just want to help in any way I could. Also, I may have used your comforter once or twice. I’m sorry, probably should’ve asked you first in hindsight, but yours is a lot thicker and warmer than mine though, and it’s getting really cold… So, sorry but not sorry._

_P.S. Saved you some of the Thai dumplings you like from the place by the YMCA :) xx_

_Don't worry about it, really. We share everything else already, and I guess it’ll save us hassle changing the bed. Dumplings were incredible. Did I ever mention before that you’re definitely in my top three roommates at this point? x_

* * *

It's five minutes until the end of her fourth period class of the day when Clarke finally has an epiphany.

She's been keeping an eye on Madi for the past few weeks, trying to work out how the hell to get this kid to actually participate and stop mulling over comic books, when she'd eventually noticed something different. Madi wasn't just reading comics -- she was making her own.

So when the bell finally rings, Clarke stands with a sense of determination and calls out for Madi to stay behind.

She feels confident about this, that this might be the thing that finally works. It doesn't hurt that she's meeting Raven for drinks tonight either, so whatever happens at least she'll have a fun anecdote from today to share with her friends. Clarke crosses her fingers behind her back, just in case.

The young girl rolls her eyes exasperatedly, slinging her backpack limbly over her shoulder before dragging her feet to Clarke's desk at the front of the classroom.

“What have I done this time?” Madi asks, with the air of a student well-practiced with getting asked to stay behind after class.

Clarke smiles at her. “I noticed you're writing your own comic book, am I right?”

Madi frowns, narrowing her eyes at Clarke suspiciously. She doesn't look too happy to have been caught out.

“I think I am right,” Clarke continues on. “Look, I want to make a deal with you. You've got some real potential, you know? I get that you're not exactly enraptured by the stuff I'm assigning, but I do need you to participate or I'm going to have to fail you. I really don't want to have to do that.”

“So, what's your point?” Madi prompts, shuffling uncomfortably from foot to foot.

“My point is that I'm not going to stop you from writing your comic. I didn't become a teacher to stamp out my students’ imagination. So, this is the deal -- you get to keep doing your own thing, but I want you to emphasise your story in five different art mediums that we've learned so far and that you can present to me. That's your assignment from now on, okay? And, Madi, you've got to make an actual effort.”

For a long moment, Madi just stares at her, assumedly trying to weigh up Clarke's offer in her head. It's pretty clear that she's never had a teacher indulge her like this before, but Clarke doesn't doubt her decision.

All she wants is for Madi to enjoy art and to actually try something for once. If this comic of hers is a means to an end, then Clarke is happy to let Madi use it for inspiration. After all, art is supposed to tell a story.

“And that's it, no catch? I just have to make some art about my story?” Madi asks slowly, none of the bite in her voice that's usually there.

“No catch,” Clarke promises, smiling again.

Madi doesn't look entirely convinced, but thankfully she doesn't put up a fight. “Fine. I'll do your stupid assignment. Happy now?”

“Happy,” Clarke affirms, dismissing the girl with a wave of her hand.

Madi makes it to the door before she turns back and makes a point of saying, “By the way, it's a graphic novel, not a comic book.”

“Graphic novel,” she repeats, “Got it.”

* * *

Clarke wakes up the following morning with possibly the worst hangover she’s ever had. It’s worse than the one she had after her twenty-first birthday. It’s worse than the time in college when she drank three bottles of wine and puked her guts up right outside her RA’s room. She’s definitely getting too old for putting back drinks like she did last night.

She opens her eyes and grimaces, realising she’s still in her red dress and wedge heels. God, she was so drunk she even forgot to take her shoes off. That hasn’t happened in a long time.

With a groan, she rolls over and comes face-to-face with Bellamy’s retro alarm clock. Her heart sinks instantly. 08:59. Oh, shit. That surely can’t be right. If that’s really the time then she was supposed to be at work almost an hour ago.

Scrambling upright, she can’t believe she’s let this happen. She hasn’t been late for work once in the two years she’s been teaching at Unity Middle School. Then her stomach lurches unforgivingly -- a reminder of the copious amounts of tequila she and Raven guzzled the night before to celebrate her genius friend's latest promotion -- and Clarke seriously considers calling in sick for a long moment. But no, she can’t, that would be terrible. Calling in sick would only serve to make her feel guilty as well as hungover.

She throws open Bellamy’s bedside drawer, looking for the aspirin she knows he keeps in there, and sighs in relief when she finds the packet. She takes two, tries not to gag, and then tries to remember if she threw up last night. There’s a vague memory of spending too much time too close to a toilet seat back at the bar, but she doesn’t have time to dwell on it now.

Clarke types a quick text to Harper and then to the school office, apologising for being late and promising that she’s already on her way.

In her first moment of clarity this morning, Clarke realises that she can’t go to work like this. She needs to shower and change. Unzipping her dress, she drops it to the floor and then kicks off her heels next to it. She grabs her fluffy grey towel, telling herself that this needs to be the quickest shower she's ever taken in the history of quick showers.

She doesn’t hear the water running until it’s too late, until she’s already flung open the bathroom door and has taken two steps into the room. It takes her a second to realise that Bellamy is already in the shower, and a second later he notices her in turn.

“Oh, fuck,” he practically yelps, grabbing wildly to pull the shower curtain around himself. They stare at each other for a long moment. The shower keeps running.

Their shower curtain isn’t completely opaque, which means that she can still see a bit. Defined outlines from where he's got it pulled tight around him. Broad shoulders and muscles, and -- _shit_ , she must not look down.

It's then that she realises she's also on display, wearing only her favourite, frilly thong and a push-up bra that _really_ pushes her breasts up. She hasn’t even wrapped her towel around herself -- it’s hanging limply from her hand. Clarke feels herself flush, hot pink with mortification. Somehow this feels worse than not having any means of covering up at all. So close to exposing herself, and yet so far.

“I’m so, so sorry,” she says, voice coming out strangled as she fumbles to finally wrap herself in her towel.

Bellamy turns the shower off then, his back to her now, and Clarke belatedly realises she should probably stop staring at the outline of his body. She turns around too, squeezing her eyes closed for good measure.

“Oh, God. This is really not how I imagined meeting you,” Clarke says.

Bellamy clears his throat. “Did you…”

“No, I didn’t see anything,” she lies quickly.

“Good,” he replies, his voice deep and rough. “I didn’t either.”

Clarke isn’t sure whether or not he's lying too, just to be polite, but she doesn’t push it. Chewing her lip, she says, “I overslept and now I’m really late for work.”

“You need the shower? That’s fine. I’m finished now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Bellamy says, then adds after a beat, “Could you pass me my towel?”

Clarke turns to grab his from the rail, holding it out towards him blindly. “There you go,” she says as he takes it from her.

A second later she hears him pull back the rail and step out of the shower. She’s suddenly aware of just how small their bathroom really is, and Clarke inches back a little bit to give him room.

“You can open your eyes now,” Bellamy tells her.

She blinks, a little surprised to have him right in front of her after months of skirting around each other.

He’s taller than she’d expected. Wet, black curls frame his face and his skin is deeply tanned. She can see quite a bit of his muscular chest and defined stomach, his towel wrapped low on his hips. Clarke forces her eyes upwards once more, taking note of the dusting of freckles on his face and his warm brown eyes. In person, roommate-friend-penpal Bellamy is undeniably gorgeous. She’s not sure whether that makes this situation more or less mortifying right now.

Bellamy clears his throat again, turning to sidestep past her. He’s doing his best, but there’s really not room for the two of them in the cramped bathroom, and as he slides past Clarke his warm back brushes up against her chest. Clarke swallows thickly. It feels like all of a sudden there’s an electric current charging through her body.

He pauses for just a second to glance over his shoulder at her. His gaze is intense, half-embarrassed and half-curious, and Clarke feels her skin grow even warmer. She looks down without thinking.

Is that… Does he… _Oh, sweet Jesus_. _It definitely is._

The door closes loudly behind him. Clarke slumps down on the edge of the bathtub, pressing her face into her hands. She feels hot all over, and she’s certain that if she weren’t so embarrassed right now that she might be feeling a different emotion altogether. But her brain feels frazzled and she doesn’t quite know what to do with herself. It doesn’t help that her hangover is swiftly returning with full force, now that the gorgeous naked man has left the room.

With a deep sigh, she turns the shower back on and shimmies out of her underwear. She doesn’t have time to implode right now. _It could’ve been worse_ , she tells herself, but it does little to reassure her right now.

At least now she’s finally met Bellamy Blake -- even if it was a complete and utter disaster.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised I'd get this chapter up by the weekend and I delivered! This literally took me so long to write, but I'm pretty happy with how it turned out in the end. Let me know what you guys think :)
> 
> Also, I just wanted to apologise for not being able to reply to individual comments on the last chapter. I've had a super hectic week, but I really do appreciate all your feedback so much. You guys make me super happy and I was delighted to hear your reactions to the incident in the last chapter! 
> 
> I'm going to be without Internet access for a few days as I'm going on a family trip, but I plan to get a ton of writing done that I can hopefully post as soon as I'm back home, so expect the next update hopefully next weekend. Without further ado, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter x

Bellamy is pretty sure at this point that there has to be a higher power up above that’s laughing at him right now. After all, who else would benefit from Clarke walking in on him naked in the shower? There must definitely be some kind of sadistic cosmic force at play, one that gets a kick out of throwing curveball after curveball his way.

Out of all the ways he could’ve finally met his evasive roommate, Bellamy had never quite imagined it would end up being so... disastrous. He had also never expected for Clarke to be so damn attractive either, which is almost equally as troubling. It’s not fair, really, to surprise a man in the shower with a beautiful woman wearing nothing but lacy underwear.

It all feels a little surreal. Somehow he can’t connect the scantily clad woman in the bathroom as the same person he writes notes to and cleans up after. It just doesn’t seem possible.

When Clarke finally leaves and the front door softly clicks shut behind her, Bellamy lets out a deep sigh. He’s not sure if it’s a good or bad thing that she didn’t say goodbye, but he tries not to overthink it too much. The bathroom incident has already left him with way too much to stress about, anyway. 

He crawls to bed after that, but sleep doesn’t come easily. His hard-on is still annoyingly persistent and the bed sheets smell like Clarke. It’s not that he isn’t used to the sweet, floral scent of her perfume by now, but suddenly it’s like his mind can focus on nothing else and it’s downright torturous.

Staring up at the ceiling, he tells himself that his body's reaction is normal, that it’s just basic biology. He's an educated adult -- Bellamy knows how these things work. And besides, it's been quite a while since he last had sex and he's still adjusting to being single again, so he's sure that probably has something to do with it, too. But no matter how much he tries to explain it all away, his mind keeps drifting back to Clarke.

Eventually he slips off to sleep, but he doesn't feel particularly rested or any less anxious by the time his alarm clock goes off in the early evening. 

Bellamy gets ready on autopilot, then drags himself out of the house and to the bus stop. The whole time all he can think about is the stark, teasing contrast between Clarke's milky skin and her lacy black underwear. 

He even almost misses the stop for the museum, too busy actively trying not to fantasize about the beauty spot above her full upper lip and the soft curve of her thighs. 

And by the time he finally relieves the day-shift guard, Bellamy has come to the conclusion that there's no way he can ever let on that she's affected him this freaking much or their dynamic will probably be ruined forever. Regardless, he's still pretty certain that he won't be able to stop thinking about her now for the remainder of his twelve hour shift. 

* * *

“So, he saw you butt-ass naked and got a hard-on,” Harper surmises excitedly, practically bouncing up and down in her seat in the teachers’ lounge. “What’s the problem exactly? If I were you I would’ve just jumped in the shower with him!”

“You're not funny. This is a total catastrophe,” Clarke huffs, rubbing her temples. “And I said he _might_ have done. I never said he definitely had one.”

Harper rolls her eyes. “Oh, shut up. You’re just so out of practice that you’ve probably forgotten what an erect dick looks like.” 

“Hey, that’s not true! I am _not_ out of practice,” Clarke tells her matter-of-factly, taking a sip of her coffee to hide the flush spreading up her neck. Truth be told, she is a little out of practice, but that’s not really the point here. “And besides, I’ve got bigger things to worry about right now, anyway. Bellamy’s probably typing up my eviction notice as we speak.”

“Either that or he’s jerking off right now to the thought of y--” 

Clarke kicks her under the table, a little harder than necessary. “Please just stop talking! God, I thought you were actually going to be helpful.”

“Stop being so prudish,” Harper chides her, pausing to chew a bite of her sandwich. Thoughtfully, she continues to say, “Okay, I’ll try to be helpful. You have two options here, Clarke. You can either pretend nothing happened, or you could just try to talk to him about it like an adult.”

“No third option?” 

“Well, you could always just walk in on him naked to make things even,” Harper teases, sounding completely serious, like it's actually a good idea. Like it wouldn't just make things even worse than they already are. “Just kidding. Don’t look at me like that. Although, if I were you I’d definitely consider it.”

Clarke kicks at her leg again, but they’re both laughing now. 

“Naked roommates aside, I was actually going to ask you something,” Harper says, suddenly looking a little sheepish. “What are you doing the second weekend of December? Any plans?”

“I don’t think so,” Clarke answers, her suspicions instantly piqued. “Why?”

Harper smiles sweetly at her. “Well, if you aren’t busy then I thought you might want to help me with the eighth grade sleepover. Seeing as you’re such a good friend and would never let me spend a night alone with those monsters, right?”

“Seriously, you’re helping with the sleepover? How the hell did you get roped into chaperoning that _again_?” 

“Because Principal Wallace always spews some inspirational bullshit about how I’ll be helping to shape the minds of our next generation and I can never bring myself to say no,” Harper admits, stuffing the last of her sandwich in her mouth. She looks at Clarke with pleading eyes. “Please come. I’ll even sneak us in a hip flask, I promise.”

Clarke groans, knowing there’s no way she can really say no to this. The annual eighth grade sleepover is notoriously nerve-wracking and only the most unwitting of teachers ever get roped into chaperoning it. 

“Please, please, _please_. I’ll love you forever.” 

“Ugh, fine,” Clarke begrudgingly concedes. “But on one condition, okay? You’ve got to come with me to see my neighbour’s band play next weekend. I originally got a second ticket for Bellamy, but it’s highly unlikely he’ll end up coming now, so...”

“A live band? Of course I’ll come,” Harper says. “Ooh! Let’s invite Raven, too. We can wingwoman each other and meet some hot, sexy musicians.”

Clarke snorts. “That isn’t exactly how I’d describe Murphy and his band, but sure. You come to the show and I’ll come to the stupid sleepover.”

“It's a deal!” 

The bell rings shrilly then, announcing the end of their meagre lunch break. They gather up their respective things and make their way out into the hallway, with Harper sing-songing _girls night out_ as she heads in the opposite direction to her own classroom. 

As the rest of the day drags on, Clarke comes to think that Harper is probably right -- she's definitely going to have to talk to Bellamy about this at some point, preferably sooner rather than later. If she leaves it too long then she'll just overthink what to say and how to say it and end up chickening out of talking to him altogether. 

She's worried, as well, that if she doesn't say something soon then this could change things between them and not in a good way. The awkwardness would just be left to simmer. There'd be no more notes, no more leftovers, nothing. They would just go back to being strangers, and Clarke really doesn’t want to happen -- their unconventional friendship has become far too important to her.

Ultimately she decides to call him, rather than just text, so that they can talk things through properly like adults. It’s a drastic measure, but it seems like the best plan of action. Pretending this morning never happened is just not a viable option.

* * *

Despite deciding to talk to Bellamy about the whole bathroom incident, Clarke still manages to put it off until very late that evening. She procrastinates as much as possible. Once she’s finished drawing up her lesson plans for the next few weeks, she makes dinner and then takes her sweet time getting through her backlog of dirty laundry. It’s a little after ten o’clock when she finally sits down on the couch with a large glass of white wine. Her phone sits on the armrest next to her, Bellamy’s name glaring up at her from her contacts list.

She steels herself, gulping down a generous mouthful of wine for additional courage, then picks up her phone and finally clicks the _call_ button.

It rings for so long that at first she's pretty sure he's not going to answer. Clarke holds her breath. The call finally connects with a slight crackle. 

“Clarke?” Bellamy asks, his voice a little gruff like she's caught him off-guard. She didn’t have a chance this morning to appreciate how nice and deep his voice is.

“Hey,” she begins hesitantly. “Sorry for calling so late -- or I guess it's actually still pretty early for you, seeing as you're pretty much nocturnal. Have you always worked the night shift? Sorry. I didn't call you just to ramble. I, um, thought we could maybe talk about what happened this morning.”

“Oh. Right,” he says, then pauses. “We don't have to talk about it, you know, if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“Well, not talking about it is sort of making me uncomfortable, so…”

Bellamy exhales. “Okay, okay. I'm really sorry about this morning. I didn't even realise you were still at home.”

“You shouldn't be apologising,” Clarke reassures him, frowning down at the wine glass in her hands. “ _I’m_ sorry. I shouldn't have been in the apartment and I definitely shouldn't have walked in on you showering.”

“Don't worry about it, it’s fine. These things happen.”

“Well, I just don't want you thinking I'm a pervert or something,” she says, then quickly adds, “I promise I am not a pervert.”

“Good to know,” Bellamy replies, and she’s sure that she can hear amusement in his voice. “And just for the record, neither am I.”

Clarke laughs. “Good. That’s good. Glad we’ve both confirmed we’re not perverts.”

The line crackles. She takes another sip of wine. There’s some background noise, like Bellamy’s walking somewhere or in the middle of doing something. Clarke decides to get to the point.

“So we’re okay though? Things aren’t going to be weird between us now?” 

“No weirder than they already were,” Bellamy replies, teasing. “Seriously, Clarke, we’re fine. It was only a matter of time until we bumped into each other, anyway.”

She feels the tension leave her shoulders at that. Relaxing back into the throw cushions, she asks, “Good. So… Um, how are you?”

There’s a slight pause, like he wasn’t expecting her to make further conversation. “I’m good. A little tired, but okay. Work is… quiet, I guess. I’m alone most nights.”

“Really? Is that what made you want to work nights then?”

“It was never a conscious decision, really. The job offer came up and the money was good, so I just took it. It’s not so bad though, having the museum to myself is pretty cool. It’s the first job I’ve actually liked in years.”

“All to yourself all night? I’m jealous. Maybe I chose the wrong profession.”

“You seem like you’re good at your job. I bet your students love you,” Bellamy says, making her smile into the phone.

“I wouldn’t go that far. They tolerate me -- I’m a tolerable person.”

“Tolerable and not-a-pervert,” he says teasingly. “The enigma that is Clarke Griffin continues to unravel.”

“Shut up,” she huffs, laughing despite herself. “Look, I’d better head to bed soon so I’m not late again tomorrow, but um, it was nice talking to you. Like actually _talking_ to you. It’s weird because you’re probably one of my closest friends at this point, but this is the first time I’ve actually heard your voice since that day I called about the apartment. Excluding this morning, obviously.”

“It’s nice talking to you too, Clarke.”

“Can we do this sometimes? Talk on the phone, like normal friends?”

“That would be okay,” Bellamy says quietly. Clearing his throat, he adds, “I should let you get to sleep, Clarke. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Bellamy.”

* * *

The building that houses the Wallace Legal Group is the exact kind Bellamy has steered clear of for most of his life. Opulent and vast, with marble columns outside the front doors and an exterior that exudes wealth. Not the kind of place he’d ever imagined setting foot inside, particularly in regards to acquiring an attorney for his little sister. Not the kind of place with attorneys he ever thought he’d be able to afford for her. 

But then Clarke had introduced him to Wells Jaha, and a few days ago Wells had invited him to come by so that they could talk about Octavia’s case. It’s a convenient coincidence, really, seeing as Bellamy is determined to get Wells onboard with representing her anyway. 

The receptionist asks who he’s here to see and makes a short phone call. Bellamy looks around the fancy lobby whilst he waits. The floor is also marble in here, polished and shiny under the overhead lights, and there’s a sitting area with suede chairs and exotic-looking potted plants. 

“Mr. Jaha will be right down,” the receptionist tells him, smiling. “Please make yourself comfortable while you wait.”

“Thank you,” Bellamy replies, returning her smile. He makes no move to sit though, opting for shoving his hands in his pockets instead. He feels acutely out of place. 

A few minutes later the mirrored doors of the elevator open and a young black man in a tailored suit walks out. 

“You must be Bellamy Blake,” he says, offering his hand. Bellamy shakes it, keeping his grip polite but firm. “It’s good to finally put a face to the name. I’m Wells, Clarke’s friend.”

“Thanks for meeting me,” Bellamy replies. “And thank you for looking into Octavia’s case.”

“No problem. Follow me, we’ll head up to my office to talk,” Wells says, nodding back towards the elevator. Bellamy follows him and watches as he presses the button for the fifth floor. The doors slide shut and a second later they’re moving upwards.

“So what’s it like having Clarke for a roommate?” Wells asks conversationally. There’s also a noticeable hint of protectiveness to his tone, too. “She was ridiculously messy back when we were teenagers. I hope for your sake she’s grown out of that.”

“She’s a great roommate,” Bellamy answers, concise but sincere. “Owns more clothes than anyone I’ve ever met, but she’s great,” he adds a second later, earning a laugh in response from Wells.

They reach the fifth floor and Wells leads him down a sleek hallway, stopping outside one of the doors on the far left. He gestures for Bellamy to go in first. “Take a seat. Do you want a coffee or anything else? I can have something sent up.”

“I’m good, thanks,” Bellamy says, sitting down in the armchair across from Wells’ desk.

“I’ll get straight to the point then, shall I? I’ve managed to get your sister’s trial moved up to December 28th, so we’ve only got seven weeks to get everything in order.” 

“You’ve -- sorry, _what_? December?”

“Yeah, took a few phone calls, but it’s all sorted. I’ve already sent Octavia a letter updating her and I’ve sent out correspondences informing her friends from the night of the incident that they’ll be called to attend as witnesses.”

Bellamy feels dizzy. It’s a lot to wrap his head around, and he’s frankly a little bit taken aback that Wells has made this much progress already. He inhales deeply before he speaks. “Wait, does this mean you’re actually going to represent her?”

“I am,” Wells affirms. “This is exactly the type of case my firm specialises in. I believe in your sister, Bellamy, and Clarke cares about both of you.”

“You’re being serious? You’re really going to do it?”

Wells raises an eyebrow at him, amused. “As long as Octavia is happy for me to take over from that Charles Pike guy she had before then yes, I’m your man.”

Bellamy has to resist the urge to hug him. He’d hoped that he might be able to convince Wells to take this case, however he had never thought it would be this straightforward. 

“Great. Thank you so much -- you don’t know how much I appreciate this,” Bellamy tells him. “But I do have to ask, how much is this going to cost?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Wells says, waving off his concerns. “I’m doing this pro bono.”

“Seriously?”

Wells grins at him. “Seriously. Like I said before, Clarke cares about you both. I wouldn’t be a very good friend to her if I bankrupted you guys, would I?”

This all feels way too good to be true. Bellamy’s certain there has to be a catch, but Wells seems completely sincere. He’s really going to have to thank Clarke properly for this. Without her intervention, none of this would be possible at all.

“Now, I’ve just got to go over some basic paperwork with you and then we’ll talk about me setting up a meeting with your sister. She’s in Polis Creek, right?”

“That’s the one,” Bellamy replies, leaning forward in his seat to look at the papers that Wells is spreading out on his desk. 

By the end of the meeting, Bellamy’s pretty certain that Wells is his new favourite person. Well, third favourite, but it’s a close third behind O and Clarke. For maybe the first time since this whole mess began, he feels confident that his little sister might just be okay after all.

* * *

_So any more thought on whether or not you’ll come to Murphy’s gig? I think he secretly really wants you to come._

_P.S. Cookie dough in the fridge if you want some :) xx_

_Cookie dough was amazing. That doesn’t sound like Murphy though, I think you’re the one that actually secretly wants me to go to the gig. Unfortunately I really can't go, visiting my old hometown this weekend to catch up with some old friends x_

_Will you be in a different timezone? I can stream it for you live? Xx_

_I appreciate the thought, but please don’t. I will not watch it. (Also, can you pick up some new dish soap on your way home from work please?) X_

_New dish soap bought. And resist all you want, I warn you next time they have a weekend gig I’ll physically drag you there myself xx_

_I’d like to see you try, I’m 180lbs of pure muscle. Have fun though x_

* * *

It takes some cunning and a little bit of begging, but Clarke manages to rope Wells and Raven into coming along to Murphy’s gig, too. Getting extra tickets doesn't turn out to be a problem, anyway. Nightblood isn't exactly the most popular late night venue in the city. 

Her friends’ only stipulation to coming along is that they pregame (a lot) before going to the show, so by the time they turn up outside the venue that Saturday night they’re all suitably buzzed and ready for the night to get under way. It’s cold out, drizzling a little too, but thankfully there isn’t much of a queue to get into the place.

The bouncer doesn’t bother to check any of their IDs, simply ushering them inside with a bored expression. Harper clutches Clarke’s arm excitedly, chattering away about different wingwoman methods for them to use, whilst Raven and Wells have hung back to banter between themselves. 

Inside it’s dark and airless, and the main room smells of sweat and stale alcohol. Clarke sees Murphy and his band setting up on the stage, and he spots her at the same time and waves. He’s wearing eyeliner and an Operation Ivy t-shirt, and he looks completely at ease on stage.

They reach the bar and Wells insists on getting in the first round, not having to ask what any of them even want because he already knows their orders by heart by now. Whilst they wait for their drinks to be poured, Clarke pulls out her phone to text Bellamy.

_At Nightblood now. SkaKru is on in 15 minutes. I’m going to video the whole set for you, just so you know how much you’re missing out ;) xx_

She’s still a little bummed that he’d decided not to come tonight, but she couldn’t begrudge him for having other plans. Really, Clarke had kind of just wanted a do-over after the whole bathroom incident; it would be nice to meet him properly and actually be able to talk to him in the flesh. Preferably with neither of them startled and naked, that is.

Her phone buzzes a moment later.

_It’s cute that you think I’ll actually watch it. Have fun, stay safe, and don’t let Murphy talk you into becoming a permanent roadie x_

She smiles down at his message, but before she can text back there’s a drink in her other hand and Raven is slinging a heavy arm around her shoulders.

“That guy over there is definitely checking you out,” Harper says, nudging Raven's side.

It's no wonder she's getting checked out already -- she looks effortlessly hot in ripped skinny jeans and her red leather jacket. Clarke glances over. The guy on the other end of the bar is totally sending Raven some serious bedroom eyes, but she doesn't seem even mildly interested for once. 

“What guy?” Wells queries, frowning. 

“I'm not looking to meet anyone tonight,” Raven says, nonchalant, and squeezes Clarke's arm. “Tonight is all about setting you and Harp up with some sexy musicians, right?”

“God, yes,” Harper affirms, sipping on her beer. 

“Let me go to the bathroom quickly and then we'll start finding some prospects,” Clarke laughs, handing her drink over to Raven to hold. “I'll be back in a minute.”

Her friends wave her off and Clarke follows the neon pink signs to the ladies’ room. The venue is surprisingly packed out now, and she has to shimmy her way through the crowd of people to get down to the hallway at the side. 

She pushes open the door to the bathroom and immediately stops dead in her tracks. Two women are pressed up against the sink, locked in an intimate embrace with lips and teeth and hands _everywhere_. 

“Oh, shit, I'm so sorry--” Clarke starts to apologise, profusely embarrassed for having walked in on the couple's passionate tryst, when the two women suddenly pull away from each other to see what the interruption is. Clarke locks eyes with the leggy brunette and her stomach twists painfully. “Lexa?” 

  
  



End file.
